Page 18 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
I shook my head. “So, make them. Unless Angelo won’t let you, in which case, fuck him. Let the bastard rot in jail.”
“He’d be out in a heartbeat.”
“But you’d have medical attention. The marred gashes on your back will scar, Damsel.” I realized my slip a second too late. I was supposed to call him Day. Anything—literally anything—but Damsel.
“Damsel?” He took a step toward me, steel in his eyes. “I’m the Damsel, and you’re the Knight? Do you think you’re brave antagonizing Angelo, Knight?” The mocking way he spit out ‘Knight’ provoked me.
Deep down, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything to Angelo. It was a mistake, one I’d realized too late. But I stood my ground anyway. “Someone had to.”
“No, Renata.” He shook his head, something like disgust in his eyes. “That’s exactly the kind of behavior I’d expect from Angelo, not someone who argues Apollonian and Dionysian in the context of The Birth Tragedy in ways that would put Nietzsche to shame.”
How did he manage to make me feel so ashamed of myself?
My head dipped down, and I stared at the rug my toes dug into. “Can you put your shirt back on?”
“Why? The consequences of your actions too much for you to handle?”
I ignored his provocation. I just couldn’t look at the welts anymore. He’d turned, but I still caught some lashes on his sides.
“Please,” I begged.
He stared at me for a moment before moving. Slowly. So slowly. His knees were partially bent, his arms outstretched to his shirt on the ground, when I said, “Wait.”
“Yes?”
I bent over, grabbed his shirt, then reached for his hand. I knew if I told him where I planned on taking him, he’d deny me. So, I led him to the bathroom in our hall, walking slowly to accommodate his back.
“Princess—”
I opened the door. “Let me help you.”
“Like you helped by talking to Angelo?”
“I’m sorry, okay?! I was mad.”
He let loose a bitter laugh. “What I don’t get is why. You’re normally unfazed. You’re the girl who stole my phone without blinking an eye—”
“I didn’t steal—”
He cut off my denial. “You’re not the girl who gets mad.”
I tossed his shirt to the ground, grabbed a hand towel, and dipped it in the bathing pool to soak it. “I hear him. Every night, when he comes to your room, I can hear him through the air vent separating our rooms. Don’t flatter yourself and think my anger is for you. If it were anyone else taking the beating, I would be angry for them, too. I may keep my calm well, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to feel empathy.”
“Let me make this clear, Princess. I don’t need your help.”
“Fine. Point taken. But let me clean your wound.”
His eyes dipped to the wet towel in my hand. “You have ten minutes.”
My eyes traced his tanned skin. The hard ridges of his abs. The way his biceps bulged. He was cut like a warrior, lean but ripped, and he’d let his father tear him up. I didn’t understand it.
“Why don’t you fight back?” I pressed the towel against his back, forcing myself to continue when his body went rigid.
“Stay out of my business, Vitali.”
Fine. Fair enough. He didn’t trust me, and I didn’t trust him. Message received. Instead of talking to him, I focused on my work. The fresh blood was easy enough to clean, but the dried blood wouldn’t let up. I could rub at it, but that would be painful for him.
“Do you have hydrogen peroxide?”
